A rearing up: the pincers waved in air: By God you better let me be:
brine bubbled at the mouth: bent foam and current having laved the shell:
water shouldering: Saturnal: deranged in the wire trapó
an inverted funnel like a halved hourglassó: ten legs makeshift on land::
How far its life reaches in the argosy beneath the surface of the sea: what I
ask: when emotion wakens: Calli: beautiful; nectes: swimmer::
To tumble down layers of sense into the warring gardens:
only to eat to molt to procreate: salt sea mud breeding in the shoals.
And then to come back, as from a museum: Goya barely bearable:
or from Medea's grave mind:: a taste of salt air:: I take up the crab in tongs.
Against wind's silk direction the tide is flowing,
turning on itself in the lee of salt marsh islands,
spiraling in large and little flowers that empetal
all below. The boat spins slowly and ...
there'll come a change: yellowtail pulling on the line,
a closing of darkness: but, oh, in nature's matrix
for a few hours you lean neither away
nor toward ... Whatever it is you refuse it.
Entwined: Three Lyric Sequences